


Something Like That

by TheAwesomeCabbage



Category: FAHC - Fandom, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF, The Fake AH Crew - Fandom
Genre: Jeremy gets in over his head, Non-shipping, first fic here we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 15:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11488977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwesomeCabbage/pseuds/TheAwesomeCabbage
Summary: Jeremy has been part of the biggest crew in Boston since he was a teenager, and the boss is a greedy businessman who wants to expand their horizons. He wants to build a crew on the west coast, or more specifically, Los Santos. But, everyone he’s sent for recon has disappeared without a trace. Jeremy, having the boss’ trust, finds himself being sent, with the orders of finding out who runs the city and how they can get a piece for themselves. But, a chance encounter, and a favor later, Jeremy soon finds himself right in the middle of the craziest and most powerful crew he’s ever come across. He’s more than willing to hit the streets again, and per orders goes undercover in the Fake AH Crew. But, when it all boils down, who will Jeremy be loyal to? Not to mention, what’ll happen if the Fakes find out he was sent to spy on them?





	Something Like That

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! Let's get right to the action, shall we?

"Jeremy, the boss wants you," came a voice from the other side of the office door. Jeremy turned to see who it was but they'd already hurried away. He held in a groan and ran his cold fingers through his short brown hair. At least it was warmer inside. Jeremy readjusted his coat and pushed inside the run down accounting firm. Or it least that’s what it was on the outside. Under the surface, it was just a way for the boss to launder his drug money. And, he'd been "promoted" awhile back to protecting the boss. Standing outside in the cold for hours, making sure no one with grudges against the gang came looking to kill the head man. Which never happened. 

Jeremy walked through the cubicles and then to his bosses private office. He swung the door open. His boss looked up, smiling when he saw Jeremy.

"I'm glad you could make it!" He called. Jeremy sat down in the stiff chair across from his boss, peering over the perfectly clean desk between them.

"Of course Mr. Madison," Jeremy responded, just like the trained guard dog he was. _It's not like I was doing anything important anyway._ He added to himself silently. 

"Do you remember what you said to me when I wanted to expand operations to the west coast?" His boss questioned suddenly. Jeremy blinked. 

"I said it was risky, Sir," he answered. His boss was a greedy and short-tempered man, but the fact that he was lazier than a cat in a patch of sunshine was his major downfall. It made it so all his "business ventures" were handed off to his subordinates. Mr. Madison leaned back in his chair and stroked his thin facial hair.

"Hmm, that's right," he answered thoughtfully. "All the men I've sent to Los Santos to scout out opportunities, I've lost all contact with-"

"You sent men to Los Santos?" Jeremy cut in. His interruption earning him a cold glare from his boss and he cleared his throat. "Sorry," he apologized.

"You've been a part of this crew since before you graduated high school, you're extremely talented and a valued member Jeremy-" Madison opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes "-you've been lucky that I keep you out of all the dangerous stuff. The negotiations, the smuggling." He popped a cig from the package and pinched it between his lips. "It's 'cause I like you, I consider you as my own flesh and blood," he mumbled around the cig. He brought a lighter to the end of it. The flames orange glow illuminating his face for a few seconds. "And it's become obvious to me that I can't trust some of our other members to get the job done," he continued. Now lit, he took a long drag from the cigarette. "So I'm sending you to Los Santos."

"Me?" Jeremy asked stunned. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. He'd joined this gang long ago looking for thrill and excitement, something that would get his adrenaline pumping. Plus the fact that when his parents died he fell into the wrong crowd. Yet as he showed his skill and willingness to follow dirty orders, his boss let him do less and less. Locking him up like a show dog and keeping him from working in the streets. All for his own protection. But, by the time Jeremy realized, he was in too deep. His boss would burn down the whole city if he tried to get out of the gang now.

Jeremy barely even remembered what it felt like to bare knuckle brawl with someone. The rush of blood in his veins, the sound of his heart thudding in his ears and the dull ache of bruised hands. The thought alone made him almost giddy. His life had become so lackluster he had already been thinking about a way to fake his own death just to go somewhere with more excitement to offer.

"Now, I know what you're gonna say, but Jeremy, business is all about connections. If we get some men on the ground on the west coast, make some room for ourselves. We could build up an empire, we can work towards controlling _everything._ Just think of the opportunity!" His boss started, but Jeremy didn't need to listen anymore, he'd made his decision. He stood up from his chair and offered Madison his winning smile and his hand.

"Yes, Sir. I'd be happy to." His boss looked up at him, seeming shocked at first before his face split in a smile of his own. He stood and took Jeremy's hand, giving it a firm shake.

"I'm glad we're in agreement. Keep in mind this is simple reconnaissance. I need to know how many men to send to ensure we get a juicy bit of the city to ourselves to set up shop. I expect reports once a _week._ Don't let me down," his boss said. The glint of a threat in his voice going right over Jeremy's head in his excitement. "Your flight leaves in three hours, Matt will bring you your tickets," his boss said as Jeremy left the office.

***

Jeremy already had packed a bag and was sitting impatiently on his couch by the time he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in," He called out loud guessing who it was. He heard the door open and then shut quietly. From around the corner, he saw his longtime friend and colleague. Matt walked into his living room carrying two bags of fast food. From his time in the _wrong crowd_ , Matt had been the only actual friend he had. He tossed one of the bags into Jeremy's lap.

"You should at least eat before you go on this suicide mission," he said, flicking a lock of long dark brown shaggy hair out of his face. Jeremy snorted.

"We both know you'll kick the bucket way before I do," he retorted. He pulled a grease soaked burger from the paper bag. Matt plopped down onto his couch, moving a pillow and making himself obnoxiously at home. "How many of these did you eat on your way over?"

"No more than five," Matt answered smiling, before stuffing his own hamburger into his mouth. Jeremy rolled his eyes and dug into the fast food along with Matt. 

"You're really going?" His friend asked almost glumly after a few moments of quiet.

"Yeah man, why not? Besides I was already feeling like if I had to stand in front of his office building for another day I'd shoot myself," Jeremy quipped. Matt pushed air through his lips disbelievingly.

"Pff, you've always had a taste for reckless decisions," he said. Jeremy took another bite of his hamburger. He chewed it slowly, thinking about how things had been a few years before.

"Don't you miss it though Matt? Being on the streets and wreaking havoc?" He asked.

"Not as much as you, I can tell you that-," Matt popped a french fry in his mouth- "I'm better at planning and building the job, not so much taking the heat of a firefight."

"I just know I've gotta get outta here, away from Madison. That guy is a control freak," Jeremy grunted. Matt scoffed through his mouthful of food.

"Don't make it sound like you're completely trapped here," Matt swallowed and turned more towards him. "If you really had wanted out you could have gotten out. I've seen your talents. I think you're just scared of what would happen to you if you did leave the gang."

"Scared? Of what?" Jeremy asked feeling slightly defensive.

"Take your pick, that no other gang would take you in-," Matt started tallying on his fingers- "that you'd be out of good work forever. Maybe you just don't want to admit it to yourself, but you like the safety and job security. He pays you outrageously well for just standing around like some sort of secret service agent." Jeremy looked at the hardwood floor between his feet.

"What are you my mother?” he asked dryly. “Either way, the only way to find out is to get the hell out of here for awhile," Jeremy sighed. He took the last bite from his hamburger and crumpled the thin paper in his hand. Matt shrugged and then stood up. He reached into his pocket and handed Jeremy an envelope. He was sure his plane ticket was inside. Jeremy stood and took it from him.

"Just be careful out there dude," Matt pulled him into a one-armed hug, patting his back a few times. "Seriously, he's sent three guys over there already and they just, vanish."

"Maybe they hate the boss as much as us," Jeremy chuckled. "Don't worry, it's me we're talking about."

"Yeah yeah, now get outta here, you'll be late for your flight." Jeremy nodded and headed towards his door. "I'll take care of your cats," Matt added, looking down at the feline that was winding itself between his legs, purring loudly.

"Thanks, I owe ya one," he replied grabbing his luggage.

"Don't die before me, motherfucker!" Matt called after him as he shut the door behind him. 

***

The sun had set fully by the time Jeremy made it to Los Santos, and the lights of the city were glittering like stars. Jeremy had checked into the fancy hotel suite that had already been paid for and had already unpacked half of his suitcase by the time the clock struck eleven PM. Excitement thrilled through him. It felt like years since he'd last hit the town. Jeremy took the elevator to the lobby and leaned onto the concierge desk. A woman with short black hair was sitting there, tapping away on a keyboard. When she noticed him she looked up and offered a smile.

"How can I help you, Sir?" She asked.

"What's the best bar within walking distance of here?" He said smiling right back. Why not have some fun and work at the same time?  
Not even five minutes later Jeremy had a drink in his hand and was watching the people as they mingled through the bar. He didn't think it'd be that hard to start to weed out people tied to the underworld. To start to make some friends that could give him useful information. He'd need to figure out the way the city worked, and get some connections to the other side before he could do anything else. As the night drew on and people got drunker he knew it'd be easier to coerce information out of them, and easier to spot the people who were sober and on a job. Jeremy sat with watchful eyes as a number of people filtering in grew, the clamor of friends greeting friends, and skeezy guys harassing women increasing the overall volume. He stood from his barstool and drifted towards the bathroom listening to conversations as he went. Mostly it was all nonsense, things not relevant to what he needed. However, his concentration was broken when a tall guy walking out of the bathroom bumped into him roughly with his shoulder.

"Watch where you're going midget," he spat. Jeremy stiffened. He hadn't been insulted about his height in a long time. When he was in high school it was everyone's favorite taunt, their go to put down. But, when he showed everyone his measly height of five foot four didn't affect his ability to kick their ass, no one called him short anymore. It was a throwback to what he'd been like then. Impulsive, and resorting to violence before the appropriate time in any verbal altercation. Oh, how things changed.

"Sorry, my bad man," Jeremy answered. He flashed an apologetic smile. The man raised an eyebrow. As if this was the first time he got this particular reaction. His face was scarred and the shaky, blown out tattoos on his arm suggested he'd definitely done time. 

"Whatever," the stranger huffed. His eyebrow moved down and his face settled into a sourness that was only made achievable by the deep frown lines on the sides of his mouth. Jeremy wondered for a second how long ago it had been since he last smiled. As he walked away, Jeremy followed him with his eyes, noticing the way his shirt was creased over his lower back.

"Bingo," Jeremy breathed to himself. Still watching, the rough stranger went over to a table where five other, equally rough, guys were sitting. They were all lounging in a booth with worn and cracked red leather. The tall one said something to them and they all started to get up. It looked like they were leaving, which meant he was too. He wove through the crowded bar, snagging a cowboy hat off of someone's head as he went, the owner too drunk to notice. He put it on his head, angling it so the rim just hid his eyes. If he was going to tail them he couldn't have the lead brute recognizing him. He grabbed a tan jacket that was hanging on the back of a barstool and pulled it on. They filed through the bar doors and he waited a few seconds before following. He walked at just the right pace to not make himself seem suspicious. They walked for a few blocks, bumping into people without care for who they were. However, before long they disappeared into what looked like another club or bar. Jeremy approached the entrance. _The Doll's Club_ read a pink and blue neon sign above. There was a ridged looking bouncer at the door. _Here goes._ He thought to himself.

"Hey, what's up," Jeremy said casually as he handed the bouncer a fake ID he had fished from his wallet. Matt had made him several, with fake names, birth places, you name it. The bouncer took it and looked at it for several seconds before he glanced back up. His sunglasses only showed Jeremy his own reflection. He held his breath. If things went south he knew he'd be fine, but it'd be a major inconvenience.

The bouncer handed it back to him with a single nod and Jeremy wasted no time getting inside. Once in the sound of music pounded against his ears drums. He glanced around, fancy couches filled to the max, drinks spilled over the tables in the center of each private seating area. Dazzling lights from the ceiling flashed over sequin mini dresses and glasses. _Quite the place._ He observed. He watched with a keen eye as the guy he was tailing took up a place in one of the VIP sections, a girl already hanging from his arm. 

He walked towards the bar and took a seat at one of the stools next to a stranger. He distractedly hailed the bartender, telling them what he wanted, before going back to his watch. The place was bustling, but there weren't many people at the bar counter waiting for their drinks. The bartender came back towards Jeremy offering him his order.

"Thanks. Hey, that guy back there, is he here often?" Jeremy asked nonchalantly. The woman had just started scooping ice into another glass. She looked up and gave him a suspicious glance.

"Who wants to know?" She asked. Jeremy tapped his finger on the outside of his cold glass. They were more guarded than he thought they'd be.

"I was just wondering, he looked familiar, thought I knew 'em," Jeremy said innocently. The bartender quirked a smile.

"You don't exactly look the type that'd know him," she said her eyes flicking up to look at his cowboy hat. Jeremy smiled.

"Maybe you're right, still I could swear I've met him before. Could ya help me out? What's his name at least?" He asked kindly. She let out a considering huff and grabbed her bar towel wiping along the bar.

"I only know him as Sheppard. I'm sure it’s not his real name. I'd leave it alone if I were you. He collects from a lot of the bars around here. It's best to not get involved," the woman said. The stranger beside Jeremy shifted slightly but he didn't think anything of it. She grabbed a few glasses and walked to the other end of the bar, making it clear she wasn't going to say anymore. Jeremy ran his hand over his facial hair. _"Collects from a lot of the bars around here"_ he repeated to himself silently. That definitely didn't sound like the most legal operation. She seemed to have dropped more information than he'd requested. Maybe she was hoping he was an undercover cop, someone here to bust him. Sadly that wasn't the case.

"You new to Los Santos?" asked the stranger on Jeremy's right, his voice thick with a British accent. Jeremy turned to look at the stranger for the first time taking notice of him. He was wearing a plain blue button up and his facial hair was well groomed. He looked young though, maybe only mid to late twenties. Jeremy blinked.

"That obvious, huh?" He asked in good humor. They let out a small laugh.

"Work, or pleasure?" They asked glancing at him.

"Both," Jeremy answered. The stranger smiled and lifted his glass from his napkin.

"To both," He said. Jeremy grabbed his drink and the stranger bumped his glass against it.

"To both," Jeremy echoed. He watched his new bar mate closely as he lifted his beer to his lips and took a huge swig. There was a gleam in his eyes. A mischievous look, like he knew something Jeremy didn't.

"So..." The stranger started. "What business does a man, that just got to Los Santos, have with a gang leader?" Jeremy felt his blood run cold. _**Shit.** _ He tried to think fast, but no great excuse came to him. It seemed the stranger was well versed in the underworld anyway. No wonder he could see right through him. Then again, it's never happened so fast either. He decided to cut his losses and he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorta here looking for work," Jeremy answered quickly. The stranger looked at him and nodded slowly.

"Clean slate kinda thing then?" He questioned.

"Yeah," Jeremy affirmed

"You don't have'ta tell me, I know all about that," the stranger took another drink. "But you shouldn't waste your time on that guy." He lifted a hand and waved at the bartender. "Say, love, mind sending a drink to someone for me?"

"Course, what'll ya have?" She asked moving closer again.

"Send your most expensive bottle of booze to our friend over there," he gestured to the gang leader in the VIP section. "And tell him..." the stranger leaned over the bar and whispered something in the bartender's ear that Jeremy couldn't hear. But he could tell by her reaction it wasn't something good. Her eyes widened in horror and she pulled back.

"Are you sure?" She asked the British man, her voice almost grave. He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and took out several hundred dollar notes. He pushed them across the bar at her.

"This should be enough," he surmised with a cheeky grin. The woman let out an almost pained sigh and took the money. Her eyebrows knit and she rubbed her forehead like she already had a headache. She turned towards the back of the bar and pulled from the top shelf an extremely fancy looking bottle. She placed it on a tray and motioned over a drink runner. She talked with them quietly, before they scurried off towards the VIP area tray in hand.

Jeremy blinked at the stranger. _Who was this guy?_ He wondered. The British man concerned himself with his drink again, not even watching the bottle be delivered. Jeremy didn't have the same self-control. He watched with a sidelong glance as the drink runner bent down to give Sheppard the bottle. The server was also telling him something. It didn't take long before the man’s face contorted in anger and he jumped up, knocking the tray out of they waiter's hand, sending the bottle hurtling to the floor. The bottle practically exploded on contact with the ground, glass and alcohol going everywhere. The stranger heard it and started giggling, squeaking even, into his beer. 

Sheppard grabbed the drink server by the collar and was almost nose to nose with them. Jeremy saw the runner fearfully point at the British man. He swung back around before the gang head caught him watching. Jeremy heard the man stomping through the club towards them, and watched as the British man stood up. He was surprisingly thin and lanky. Hardly having a threatening or intimidating presence like Jeremy would expect out of someone in their line of work. And, despite the cash he'd just thrown at the bartender, he was wearing only gray jeans. Jeremy felt his heart rate pick up and he stared at the stranger in shock. This guy had to be insane or drunk. Probably insanely drunk. Sheppard didn't waste a second before he had the stranger by the collar as well. But the British man didn't even flinch.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Sheppard snarled into the British twinks face. The stranger was still laughing, making Sheppard angrier. He started cocking back his arm, his face beet red. Jeremy had to do something. He wasn't going to just watch this twig of a man get the shit beat out of him. Jeremy leaped up from his stool, not thinking.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's calm down a bit here gentlemen," Jeremy started. The gang leader's attention snapped to Jeremy.

"This is none of your business mid-" He broke off, recognition sparking in his eyes. _Oops._ "Are you following me midget?!" Jeremy let out a slow breath, convincing himself to not worry about the insult.

"I came here to meet a friend," he said. He regretted it instantly as the huge man looked back to the stranger. _Nice job. What the fuck are you doing? Get ahold of yourself._ Jeremy scolded himself silently.

"Oh, so you know this sack of shit?" Sheppard asked, half smirking. He proceeded to shove the stranger backward so hard he slammed into the barstools knocking a few over with a loud crash. The man reached around his back and pulled the gun Jeremy had noticed before that had been tucked in the waistband of his pants. He pointed it at the British stranger, eyes dark. Jeremy's heart leaped into his throat. The DJ silenced the music and people were staring in shock. They didn't know whether to run or watch and see what happened. He turned to see if the stranger was okay. They were leaning back with their elbows on the bar to support their weight. What little weight he had to him at least. He wasn't laughing anymore but his eyes were focused on Jeremy, sparkling with interest. As if he was wondering what else Jeremy was going to do. _Why am I sticking my neck out for this guy? He's crazy._ Jeremy pushed the thoughts down. This Sheppard guy, he was a bully, and Jeremy had one rule for people like them. 

Jeremy stepped in front of the stranger, shielding him from Sheppard. _Am I really willing to take a bullet for this dude?_ He ignored the thought. He wasn't just going to stand there and watch this small guy get killed for a joke. "Now let's not jump to conclusions. Whether I know the guy or not doesn't matter," Jeremy soothed. He was holding his hands up in a non-threatening display. He felt himself set into a familiar groove. He forced his broad shoulders to relax and took a deep breath. Time to lay on the charm.

"From the looks of it, you're a pretty self-respecting businessman, aren't you?" Jeremy prompted him. "A man very in control of his assets am I right?" Jeremy grinned. Stroking this guy’s ego would be the first step to actually get this guy to care about what he had to say. Sheppard rolled his left shoulder and looked down at Jeremy.

"Business is business," He rumbled.

"I can see you're a man that doesn't mess around," Jeremy continued. "You wouldn't have gotten where you are today without that, huh? It's a very smart move." Sheppard smirked slightly, beginning to look smug. _Perfect._ "The smart businessman that you are, I'm sure you know the importance of your image don't you?" The man's gaze met his eyes.

"What about my image?" He asked, his voice still had an edge.

"Easy now big guy," Jeremy laughed light-heartedly. "I'm sure your anger with my friend here-" Jeremy motioned behind him - "Is well founded. But, he's drunk. You wouldn't want word getting out that you killed one of your well-paying customers for a joke that went too far, do you?" Jeremy gestured widely at the rest of the club who were watching with round scared eyes. Sheppard glanced around at the people, his eyes flashing. "High paying customers should be very valued, commercial business is all about the customers. Wouldn't you agree?" Jeremy urged, his face open and trustworthy. Sheppard was looking at him cautiously, but his face was beginning to soften.

"If no one comes to your bars, what will happen to you?" Jeremy slowly started reaching for the pistol he was holding up. The man seemed to be pondering what Jeremy was saying very hard.

"Maybe you're right, short stack," Sheppard said slowly. Jeremy bit his lip so he didn't scowl at the insult. _Man, this guy's stupid. I really want to take him down a peg..._

"Why don't we put the gun down, and put all this behind us then?" Jeremy coaxed. Sheppard looked calculating until his face broke into a smile. His arm went lax and the gun fell to his side. He let out a hearty laugh. 

"You know what?" He bellowed, tucking the gun back into the waistband of his pants. Only this time in the front, like a clear warning. "I like you. No one's ever had the balls to tell me how to run my operations before." Jeremy smiled back at Sheppard and laughed along with him. But, Jeremy could see right through him. His smile didn't reach his eyes. They still had a malicious glint to them. He was trying to play it off as a joke. To soothe the situation and then probably kill the stranger later when no one would notice him go missing.

Jeremy's own fake smile was beginning to twitch, his cheeks ached and he wanted to get this over with. He didn't look back at the stranger but he could tell he was still there. He planned out what he was going to do in his head. Each step, the path his body would have to take. He hoped that his rustiness wouldn’t completely fuck him. Jeremy chuckled. _I’ve been here for two hours and I’m already making enemies with a big gang. Matt’s gonna kill me._ Jeremy took a breath.

"Sadly, I don't like you,” he said casually. He didn’t give Sheppard the time to process what he’d said, he was already moving. He slammed his fist into Sheppard’s throat with his left hand and snatched the gun from his belt with his right. Then with the heel of his palm, he slammed it into the center of Sheppard’s chest sending him staggering backward. “Fucking, moron, you didn’t even turn the safety back on, what, you wanna blow your own dick off?” Jeremy said squeezing the trigger and shooting him in the stomach before he could recover his balance. He crumpled to the ground, and Jeremy’s ears were ringing.

The second the shot was fired, well, all hell broke loose. He’d already moved the pistol to the next target that was rushing towards him, one of the guy’s stupid grunts. He fired three more times, dropping bodies. He knew this was the worst decision he could have made, but with the hum of adrenaline in his veins, he could care less.

“Shit! It’s the Fakes!” Someone screamed. But, caught up in the moment and not knowing anything about this city, he ignored it. It was just some scared person yelling nonsense. Patrons were screaming and running, trying to get out before they were caught in the firefight. Two more grunts rushed him at once, he fired another shot, and pistol whipped the other. Not only did he have to take care of himself, now he was defending some drunk stranger.

Or, at least he thought. In the wake of the last grunt popped up another, this one with a gun. Jeremy spun, trying to get a shot, but he felt the movement of air, and the British stranger was snapping the gun from their wrist. Once disarmed, to Jeremy’s jaw slacking shock, his new friend made quick work of them. They hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. A few more came at them and Jeremy watched in awe as his new ally took them head on. Jeremy couldn't help but gawk a bit. Back home only enforcers got through fights. This guy looked nothing like he seemed. The few remaining people of the opposing crew seemed to get the message that they were losing.

They cut their losses and scattered like roaches, not even paying mind to their leader who was bleeding out on the floor. The bar cleared out faster than he would have thought possible, leaving Jeremy, and the stranger alone, with the sound of sirens in the distance. The stranger looked down at Sheppard.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly according to plan but it works,” he said easily, nudging the man with his foot. The brute groaned in pain. Apparently, he was still clinging to life. The stranger leant down to crouch over him. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me,” he started. “Then again it was Ryan that organized this deal,” he shrugged. 

“Sorry to say buddy, but you broke some rules. You’ve been let go,” he said his voice nonchalant but so powerful Jeremy suddenly felt very nervous. The man stood up and his eyes settled on Jeremy. They were hazel green and pierced through him. He started walking towards him and offered his hand for a handshake. Jeremy switched the gun he was holding to his left hand, and graciously took the other man’s hand.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he said, voice intrigued.

“Jeremy,” he replied instantly, before cursing himself for using his real name. Their handshake broke.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “You’re pretty short, you don’t really look the part,” he said, though it was in good humor. Jeremy snorted lightly.

“Neither do you, if I’m being honest,” he replied. At that, the stranger laughed. 

“Well, Cheers, Jeremy. You’ve done me a big favor here,” he looked back in the direction of Sheppard. The sirens were getting louder. The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet again. He took out a black business card and handed it to him. He took it and looked at it. The border was gold, there was a symbol of a rubber duck inside a segmented circle, and a phone number, but nothing else.

“As a way of thanks, if you ever need anything, just call this number and say your name,” he said. He clapped Jeremy on the side of the arm. “I suggest you get outta here, we’ll take care of this,” he said with a smile so genuine it was slightly unnerving. He was obviously in a crew, he’d mentioned another name and a _“we”_.

“Also, if you need a place to drink at that’s a little less... eventful. Try the place on 7th called Black Dog,” he added. Jeremy blinked. “Who know’s, maybe you’ll find some work,” he hinted. It must not be any ordinary bar. Maybe what he did wasn’t such a bad idea in the first place. It seemed he just got on at least one gang's good side. But, also there were people on the streets that knew his face as the one who killed their frontman. He hoped the good and bad would cancel each other out. He thanked the stranger for the card and with haste, he left the bar and hustled back to his hotel. Only once he got back did he realize he’d never even gotten the stranger’s name.

//////////////

Gavin skipped out the back door and dialed a number on his phone. It rang twice before they picked up.

“If it isn’t my friendly neighborhood criminal,” came the familiar voice. “Let me guess, you were at the shooting that was just called in, and I’m currently headed to right this very moment?” Gavin cracked a smile.

“Awh, Miles, you know me so well, I’m flattered.” There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the call.

“The usual?”

“Yeah, also, tell Burns I ran into a friend. Make sure he’s covered too,” Gavin said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Miles said back and hung up. Gav stuffed his phone back in his pocket and sauntered out to the street. That’s when he heard the earpiece he had in his ear crackle to life.

“He was interesting,” Ryan murmured.

“I agree,” Gavin said thinking back to the short man, who without a second thought had put his life on the line to save him. Morales, but not afraid to kill. Interesting indeed.

“I’ll tell Geoff.”

“What about our mice?” Gavin asked. Ryan smiled from where he was, one foot propped up on a body. He looked around him at the dead people that littered the alleyway. Not one crew member that had tried to flee was alive to tell the tale.

“What do you take me for, an amateur?” he asked.

“The police are getting closer, can you two get the fuck over here?” Came the familiar female voice over their comms. “I’m not going to idle here all night,” Jack said. They hurried to the extraction point and slipped into the vehicle. Jack already had Geoff on the phone when Gavin sat down.

“We’re headed back. Things didn’t go quite how we’d planned,” Jack was telling him.

“Gavin?” Geoff asked.

“Hey! Wot! Why does everyone always guess me first?!”

“Cause you’re _you?_ You were supposed to case the guy so we knew when he’d left the club so we could _bip_ 'im, and move on. Easy, simple. Not provoke the guy!” Jack barked back at him exasperated.

“I think things worked out fine considering,” Gavin defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now most, if not all, his crew are gone too! I think things turned out bloody well.” Jack pinched the bridge of her nose.

“We’ll tell you about it when we get there, Geoff,” she said and the car engine rumbled as she laid on the gas of their unmarked getaway car. The police tore past them on the street, headed in the opposite direction, and towards the club.

“Too bad about Sheppard,” Ryan said. “I liked him, he was dumb.” 

Jack scoffed. “That much is obvious since he thought he could get away with taking a little extra funds without thinking we’d notice,” she pointed out. “Plus that bastard starting pushing into territory that wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Well, he’s not much of a problem now,” Gavin hummed in satisfaction.

“I wish I could have seen the look on his face,” Ryan chuckled darkly.

“You want the play by play?” Gavin asked with a smile. Yeah technically they heard some of it, but they didn’t see the juicy bits. Ryan nodded, a ravenous smile on his lips.

“So I’m just sat there, right?”

...

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Tumblr! You can find me at: the-awesome-cabbage.tumblr.com . Will update as frequently as possible! I'm currently a college student, but the next chapter will be soon! Comments and feedback would be the best thing ever!


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